


Ghost of You

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa
Genre: Angst, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003), Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist the Movie: Conqueror of Shamballa, Community: hc_bingo, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Homecoming, POV Second Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  Ed finally makes it home.  Maybe.<br/>Disclaimer:  I just play paper dolls with Arakawa's characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has nothing to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a prequel to the entire storyline, but I wrote it last.

Alphonse sneezed, and Edward glanced over at his little brother, worry in his eyes. “Are you all right?” 

“It’s just a sneeze, Brother,” Alphonse said, rolling his eyes. He still pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose with it before folding the square of soft cotton and tucking it back in his pocket. 

“You’re sure?” It was hard not to be worried about Alphonse, after all. He was so…different than what Edward had expected. His little brother, dressed in his old clothes, wearing a ponytail – the image barely reconciled itself with how Alphonse looked now – his hair neatly trimmed, wearing a white shirt with dark blue trousers, and a matching coat, the collar pulled up to protect his neck. His shoes were spit-polished and the scarf around his throat hung just so – Edward remembered his little brother had always made the beds ‘just so’, when he, himself, would haphazardly pull the sheets and blankets up over the pillows and leave it at that. 

“I’m fine, Brother. It’s just an autumn cold.” Alphonse waved a gloved hand at the trees, with their leaves going gold and orange and red from the first frost. “I’ll have some chicken soup and hot tea when we get home, and you’ll see, I’ll be better.” Linking his arm with Edward’s, he offered up a sunny grin. 

Edward couldn’t help but grin back, pulling his brother a little bit closer, basking in the warmth of Alphonse’s smile.


	2. First Frost

It’s your first time back in Amestris in literally years. As you step off the train, you inhale deeply. Risembool, as always, smells like lanolin and sheep shit. For some stupid reason, your vision blurs. You shake it off to get out of the way of the rest of the passengers – all two of them - disembarking the passenger cars. You walk to the edge of the platform to take a look around. “I’m back,” you say, almost under your breath as you pass the stationmaster, who nods, not realizing, maybe, who you are. Who you were, once upon a time. 

But you haven’t been that boy in ages, and your skin prickles at standing on the platform, wondering if anyone would even care you are here. You stare at the grass, at the cloudlike images of sheep, at the dirt road leading out of the still-small town. Before you realize it, your feet are on that road, and you’re walking to the east. 

The house appears before you, rising on a hill away from the road. You hesitate outside the gateway, staring at the balcony, wondering if she still sleeps in that room, or whether she sold the house. A part of you wants to go up, knock on that door, but you’re afraid to find out that someone else now lives there. And if she did answer the door, what would you say? ‘I’m sorry’? Even you know that isn’t enough. 

If you close your eyes, you can imagine Den’s bark, and Winry’s shout of, “You idiot, you never call!” Your body tenses in anticipation of a wrench flying at your head, but there is nothing, no barking dog, no yelling. No wrench. 

You wonder if this is what being a ghost might feel like – lost in regrets.


	3. Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winry sees someone out at the road in front of the house.

There is a prickling in your shoulder blades, like the feeling of an approaching storm. It makes you look around, check the windows, peer outside – though you don’t see anything out of the usual. The sky was clear, there was a soft wind blowing, your sheets on the line are flapping softly. You can hear your chickens talking as they scrape up bugs to eat from around the yard. 

Walking into the kitchen, you peer out of the window over the sink, seeing something out by the road. You lean forward, squinting a bit, trying to figure out who is there. You aren’t expecting anyone, no appointments scheduled today, but there he is, watching your house. Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart pounds, but you try to settle yourself. It can’t be, you think, it’s never been, not in all this time you’ve spent waiting. But even as you’re thinking that, your feet are carrying you toward the door, and you fling it open, staring at the figure at the end of the walk that leads to steps. 

“Ed?” you breathe, grabbing for the railing to keep from falling down. Is it him? Is it really him? Has he finally come back to Risembool at last? 

You force yourself to stand your ground, even though part of you wants to go flying down the path to the road, to hug him tight, to laugh and cry and welcome him home, but you’ve been burned before. 

So you stand there, and wait. 

Because this time, you’re protecting your heart from getting broken.


	4. In Broken Dreams 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al is the one who dreamed of returning to Risembool, but Ed goes home alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Cornerofmadness for reading this over and telling me it didn't suck. If I got anything wrong with CoS history, that's my fault, and not her own.
> 
> Happy 3 October!

X X X

The sunlight feels like it’s baking your brain, but still, you stand on the side of the road. You’ve been here for over an hour now, staring at the yellow house on the hill. Someone had come outside while you’d watched, and you feel those eyes focused on you. It makes you want to move, but you’re not sure whether you want to continue up the path, or turn around and go back to the station, climb on board the next train, and head somewhere else, anywhere else, away from here. But you’re not a coward, or you like to tell yourself that, even though climbing the incline to the house is maybe the most frightening thing you’ve ever considered doing; even worse, in its own way, than the measures you’d used to return to your own world from that warped mirror called ‘Germany’. 

How can you even begin to explain to her what had been sacrificed to send you back? If you’d come home with Al, things would be so much easier. You know Al wouldn’t think twice about walking up that path. He’d knock on the door, and when Winry opened it, he’d hug her and say, “I’m sorry.” Al isn’t with you, though, and that thought makes your hands clench into fists. You can still hear the cough rattling in his lungs; see the bright red blood he tries to hide from you. You hate him - hate _Al_ – for drawing the transmutation circle and collapsing onto it, whispering breathlessly, “Go, Brother, p-please go home!” You want to scream at him to take it back, it’s not his time, you won’t be going back to Amestris alone – 

\- but here you are. 

You’d regained consciousness in that decaying city beneath Central, staring at the sky-ceiling, tears rolling down your cheeks. It took time, and you had no idea how long, but your tears finally dried. When that happened, you realized you weren’t dead. Your brother had given what was left of his life to send you back to Amestris, and you know you can’t let him down. And even if you wanted to lie there and die yourself, Al would have beaten you up for even thinking it. He’d have told you to go home, find Winry, and…your mind goes blank around then. Al would insist you apologize, but you’re not sure why. You’d had this conversation back in Germany, more times than you wanted to remember. It’d always ended in arguments and cold silences between the two of you, sometimes lasting for days. 

Now, that silence would last the rest of your life. 

You rest your hand on the warm stone wall. She’s still on the porch, watching you watch her. A breeze catches the hem of her skirt, making it flow around her calves. It’s been too many years since you’ve seen Winry Rockbell. When you’d tried to bring her to mind in the other world, you’d remember blue eyes, overflowing with tears. An angry voice. The sensation of a wrench, connecting with your skull. And – your breath catches – her arms around you, holding on tight, her whispered words in your ear, ‘Welcome home’, her scent, warm and clean and like no one else’s, something you hadn’t even been aware you’d missed until she was literally under your nose. 

“It is you.” 

Starting, you realize she’s moved closer, standing more than two-thirds the way down the hill. Her arms aren’t open to you, instead, they’re folded. You can see crow’s feet around her eyes, and lines bracket her mouth, deepened by the way her lips are set in a downward-turned curve. She searches the shadows under the trees. “Where’s Al?” 

Your mouth opens to say something, you’re not sure what, but only a squeak comes out. Something in her expression changes. “Ed?” 

Knees giving way, you collapse on the road. A few seconds later, you’re aware of Winry’s hands on your shoulders, giving you a shake. She shouts your name, but you’re spiraling down, past the tentacles that dragged you from one world to the next, past Truth’s toothy smile, past the stink of blood and the sight of Al’s dying form, his lips forming your name as the light fades from his eyes, the same way yours fade now. 

X X X

You wake with a start, realizing something has licked your hand. A pair of eyes are watching you; one pale blue, the other bi-colored, not quite equally brown and blue. The dog’s ears flip up and down and it nuzzles your hand, demanding your attention now that you’re awake. 

Ignoring the headache lurking behind your left eye, you cautiously sit up. The pain doesn’t subside at your movement; for a second, it flares hot and hard, then dies back down to something almost livable. Something you can disregard. You rumple the dog’s ears and take a slow look around. 

The room is familiar, far more familiar than you think it should be considering it’s been almost nine years since you last saw it. The paint has been freshened and the curtains are new, but the beds – two of them, one for you, one for – and the dresser with its mirror and pitcher and bowl, and a couple of pictures scattered about on the walls, and a small shelf of books; you can almost point them out with your eyes closed. 

Someone undressed you down to your threadbare underwear, and a part of you thinks you should blush that Winry’s seen you this unclothed, but you’re not that kid any more. Instead, you cast around for your clothes and pull them on. Your feet remain bare. Your shoes, you know, are downstairs near the front door, under the hall table. Your socks might’ve been washed by now, or, better yet, thrown out. You sigh, and head downstairs, the dog flowing down the steps ahead of you. 

You follow Den’s replacement into the kitchen where Winry sits at the table, a cup of tea steaming in her hands. There’s a pot, so you open a couple of cabinets until you find the right one, and pour yourself a cup before sitting across from her. “So, who carried me into the house?” 

“The Todd boys happened by.” Winry sips her tea. “I don’t think you’d know them. The eldest one’s sixteen.” 

You can just remember the Todds jumping the fire before you and Al tried to bring your Mom back, so kids are news to you. “Thanks for taking me in.” The words sound awkward, coming out of your mouth. Like Winry is a stranger. But she is, a little voice inside you argues. Shut up, another, sounding remarkably like your brother, responds. You shift uncomfortably and take a drink of the tea, coughing when it burns your throat going down. 

“You did come all this way,” Winry says, without any rancor in her voice. Well, maybe some. 

There is a silence between you, like a wall, and you think Al would be disappointed. Al…You set down your cup to rub your temples. “Al’s dead,” you say, barely hearing Winry’s gasp. She had to have realized; maybe she was just going through the motions. “He-he got sick, in the other world. A disease that has no cure there.” The cup is warm and you wrap your cold fingers around it. “I didn’t know, at first. One-one of my friends there,” you picture Alfons’s blue eyes and blond hair, so like Winry’s, with his features so like Al’s, and choke for a second. “He died from the same disease, when I was h-here, last time.” 

“Ed.” 

The words keep coming, though, as if they’d waited for a long time for the dam to break. “And Al caught it, too. He – it started as a cough, but it kept building. Night fevers, weight loss. He coughed up blood and hid it from me.” You remember finding a handkerchief in the trash, and starting to scold Al for throwing it out until you found the blood wadded in its center. Instead, you scolded Al for another reason. “We…we were poor. Doctors said it was best to move, but.” Leaving Germany was difficult at best. It had taken all the money you’d been able to scrape together to get the gypsies to accept you both, and take you along. Al’s cough made them dump you – you weren’t Rom, and they felt no kinship with you. You told Noah to stay with her people, remembering her tears as she climbed into the back of the truck that hauled her away. 

“We wound up in a little town, with no doctor.” Hiding in a basement, cold and wet. Al kept getting worse. “Al…started hallucinating. Said he could see,” see Winry. See this yellow house. That was all right. It was when he saw Mom, said he saw Dad, that you knew. From the way his skin turned waxy and his breath rattled. And his determination to draw a circle once you’d finally fallen asleep from exhaustion. You’d opened your eyes to see your little brother, blood dripping out of his mouth as he finished the transmutation circle. The smell, oh the smell, how had you slept through it? Your gorge heaves in remembrance, but you gasp, and smell tea and grease and metal and lavender - _Winry_ \- instead of death. “He drew the circle in his blood,” you choke out, “and then.” Al dropped his hands to the circle, activating it. The cold blue light erupted out of the circle of blood and you saw the black tendrils, reaching out for him and you as you scream at your little brother. 

And then, you woke up in Amestris. 

Your eyes feel damp and hot and you blink them hard, swiping a quick, careless hand over your face. 

Winry’s head is lowered, but somehow, you think her eyes are dry. 

X X X

You walk slowly around the house, trying to reacquaint yourself with it. The dog watches you from a rug in the corner of the living room as you stop, peering at a series of photographs on the wall. Some are of people you recognize from so long ago – one of your family, before the old man left; another of Winry with her mom and dad. A picture of Al, Winry and you as kids; another of you with Den, your chest in bandages and a spoon in your mouth. Pinako and Winry, together. Then there are pictures of people you remember. That dark-skinned girl thief from Rush Valley, looking older, holding a baby in her arms. Hawkeye and Winry, dressed casually, in front of some building. Mrs. Hughes and a girl who has to be Elicia. And then people you don’t know at all: a photograph of a pair of burly men, one posturing, the other looking grumpy. A little dark-haired boy who looks vaguely familiar, but you know he has to have been born since you were last in Amestris. There are a few of a man with sandy brown hair and dark eyes. 

There is a photograph of Winry standing in a white dress, holding flowers, looking happier than you ever remember. The sandy-haired man is holding a newborn baby in a picture, and in another, he and Winry are cuddling a little blond girl. 

You know that smile the little girl wears, and also that flash of temper she shows in more than one photo. This is Winry’s daughter with the sandy-haired man. You watch her grow, from her birth up until she seems to be around four years old. 

There is no man in this house, nor a child; just Winry, the dog, and you. 

X X X

“I’ll need to look at your automail,” Winry says as she sets out sandwiches and a tureen of soup, “before you leave.” 

Those words stop you in mid-reach for one of the sandwich halves. Leave? You’d just gotten here, you almost protest, but then see it from Winry’s point of view. How many times had you just appeared for a tune-up and left? Obviously, enough that it made an impression. “I’d like that,” you manage to say, and pick up the sandwich, biting into it. You let out a moan through the bread. How long had it been since you’d had fresh food? And things in Amestris had so much flavor compared to what you’d eaten in that other world. The tastes explode across your tongue, and it’s all you can do not to cram the sandwich into your mouth. You know if you do, you’ll throw it all up again – these last few weeks, food had been even more scarce in that basement you’d been hiding in, and you’d been feeding Al most of what you’d managed to scrounge. 

Winry eats neatly and quietly, glancing up at you as you set down the sandwich and take a sip of your water, then have a spoonful of soup. She doesn’t say anything as you pause between each bite, but you can tell thoughts are whirling in her head. “Once you finish, I’ll take a look at your automail.” She leaves you at the table, the dog following her out of the room. 

Funny, everything tastes like ash now, but you force it down anyway. 

X X X

You strip off your clothes, thinking they’re frayed, and shabby, and you should be embarrassed to let a woman see in you in such straits. But this is Winry, who’s seen you at your very worst, so you climb into the chair in your tattered underwear. You could transmute something better, but the idea of using souls makes your own feel like its dying. What if you used Al’s soul to fuel your transmutation? 

You fight with your gut to keep the food down. 

“What?” Winry asks. 

Unable to answer her, you wave her off, pinching the bridge of your nose and breathing through your mouth until your stomach settles again. “Okay,” you sigh. “I’m okay.” 

Winry picks up a screwdriver and sets it into a screw in your shoulder plate. You close your eyes at the sensation of her hand on your bare skin, separated by the leather glove she wears. Your nerves tingle. When was the last time someone touched you? “You’re skinny, Ed,” Winry scolded, breaking you out of your reverie. “If you lose much more weight, your skin and muscles will pull away from your plates.” 

“There wasn’t a lot of food where I was.” 

“You need to start eating then. Decent food, not just rice.” 

You can’t remember the last time you had rice. “Okay, Winry.” 

She falls silent as she works, and you’re just as relieved she doesn’t ask any questions. You don’t want to talk about the other world. Still, the silence seems weird; Winry always chattered while she worked, explaining what she was doing and complaining about the lack of care you gave your automail. You wonder if it’s just you inspiring this quiet, if she still talks to her customers. You wonder if she’s still as handy with hitting with that wrench. She hadn’t hit you, yet. You kind of wish she would. 

Once upon a time, Pinako referred to you as their ‘best customer’. It was because of your automail, and the amount and time they put into it, not because you were friends with Winry. Not that you treated her like a much of a friend, not after your Mom died. Despite everything she did, every time Winry reached out, you rebuffed her. You just knew you were going to get your Mom back, and then, everything would be okay. And when it wasn’t, you were so intent on getting Al’s body back, you barely saw anything else. After Al followed you to the other world, he’d sometimes tell you stories about Winry, and how she’d been so sure you were alive. You’d known how hard she’d had to have worked on your automail – it fit perfectly, and she hadn’t even seen you for four years to know if you’d grown or not. You’d tried to blow off Al, saying it was an obsession with automail, but that wasn’t it. That hug Winry gave you the last time you’d made it back to Amestris – even you weren’t stupid enough to think that was a hug from a friend, not with the way she whispered ‘Welcome home’ in your ear. 

And then, then you’d run away from her, again. Oh, sure, save the world, save Amestris, leave it behind and everything you might’ve been able to love, if you weren’t obsessed with your Mom, then your brother, then returning _home_ to your brother, and now you’re home without him and. 

And you don’t know what to do. 

X X X

You’re still in Risembool, and it’s almost been a week. Winry’s busy, and you stay out of her way for the most part, but you take over some of the chores to give her some relief. There are still chickens in the yard, which means eggs need to be gathered. You’d learned to cook some dishes in Germany, and try to put together at least one meal a day, even if it is just sandwiches. The garden out back needs planting, and you can do that, and wash clothes, and hang them out. There are other things that need doing, little repairs you can do without alchemy, and you’re relieved at that. 

The dog, you find out, is named Lu. She’s smart, and helps you find the eggs hidden in the grass and under bushes. When she’s not with Winry, she follows you around. There are no pictures of Lu, not as a puppy, not with the baby girl or the sandy-haired man, not with Winry. You wonder how long she’s been here. 

You wonder if she’s a stray dog, like you are.

X X X

It starts raining one afternoon while you’re making a pot of stew for supper. At first, it’s a few drops, but they start coming down harder, and thunder booms, and Lu charges through the kitchen and tries to make herself fit behind the couch. When the lights flicker once, you glance up, but the second flicker makes you set down the paring knife and carrot you’d been peeling. Out of the window, you see darker clouds rolling in, lightning illuminating all their layers. The lights flicker again. “Winry?” you call, heading toward the basement door. 

The lights go out as you reach the top step and you freeze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. There’s a crackle and a boom and suddenly, everything’s bright and blue, and you can see Winry from the light outside the windows, then everything goes black. “Winry!” 

“I’m okay. Stay where you are.” You hear something rustling over the sounds of the rain and the thunder, and then a light comes on in the basement from a torch. You can’t see Winry, but the light from the torch bounces as it comes up the stairs. “Move, Ed.”

You step back at the tone of her voice, shifting out of her way. Now you can see her face, and how tight her jaw is. She doesn’t look at you as she walks through the house and sits down on the couch. Lu creeps out from behind it and crawls into Winry’s lap. The lightning still strikes and the thunder growls in the sky, close enough to make the house shudder. The torch clicks off, and, as lightning flashes outside, you can see Winry, petting Lu, her eyes distant. 

X X X 

It’s not the first day of rain. 

The electricity comes back on, almost as abruptly as it went off. You tune the radio, listening to the report of rain, and the river rising. 

“Turn it off,” Winry said.

“I want to know what’s going on.” 

“It’s spring, Ed. It’s raining, and the river’s rising. What more do you need to know?” She snaps the radio off as she walks by it, heading back down into the basement. 

Lu whines, almost under her breath, and slinks down the stairs after Winry. 

X X X

Someone bangs on the door of the house, waking you out of your rain-induced doze. You stagger out of the living room in time to see Winry opening the door, one arm folded across her stomach. Her spine is so stiff, you think it might break. The man standing at the door wears a rain coat, and water drips off the brim of his hat. “River’s rising,” he said, “know you’ve got someone visiting.” He leans around Winry to look at you. “We need all the help we can get to shore up the bank.” 

You feel Winry’s eyes on you, too. “Do you have a raincoat I can borrow?” you ask. 

She yanks open the hall closet door, pulling out a coat. For a few seconds, she doesn’t do anything, just looks at it, then she thrusts it against your chest. “Here.” 

You pull it on, not about to mention it’s too big for you. You feel Winry’s eyes on your shoulder blades as you follow the man out the door. 

X X X

The river is swollen and a line has been set up, men tossing bags of dirt to each other to keep the water from washing away the sheep farm beyond their backs. You smell mud and sheep shit and sweat as you approach. Women fill the bags and haul them to the beginning of the line. The last few men in the line put the bags into place, making a dam to contain the muddy water. The rain’s made everything slippery and you fight to keep your footing in your worn shoes. 

You remember Izumi, and the way she clapped her hands and made an earthen wall, too high for the water to cross. You could do the same, but Al – 

“Are you all right?” the man who’d led you here asks. 

“Fine,” you mumble, and take your place in the line, heaving a bag to the next man down. Another bag slaps into your arms and another, and you lose yourself in the mindless work. The rain keeps falling, and someone down the line warns that there’s been more rain in the north, that the river hasn’t crested yet. Compared to the rising water, you can see just how low the wall actually is, and swallow hard. There’s still time, though, there has to be; you can shore up this oxbow, and the water will flow on downstream. 

“Ed!” 

Your name sounds high-pitched and strangled. 

“Ed!” 

You keep flinging bags. 

“Ed!” Blue eyes burn into yours, and you pause for a second, staring blankly at Winry. She’s furious, and you think, yes, this is what you remember, Winry being _alive_ and crackling with energy. She shakes you, her hands tightening on your wet sleeves. “Ed, use your alchemy.” 

You shake your head, though your gaze goes to the wall, to the water you now see is rising faster. You see a branch out there in the middle of it, tumbling slowly toward the bank. 

“Ed, use your alchemy. Make a dam.” Winry’s talking through gritted teeth. “Now, Ed!” She gives you another shake. 

The branch isn’t a branch, but a tree, and the realization shocks you. You watch it as the water carries it closer. Something stings your cheek, and you wrench your eyes to Winry, seeing her hand pulled back to slap you again. “Stop the water, Ed!” She has your attention, and points to the men closest to the river. “They’re going to die!”

 _Al_ , you cry in your head, but the fury and fear in Winry’s face decides for you, and you press your hands together and drop them to the soggy ground. Lightning flashes and for a second, all you can smell is ozone, then the earth beneath you rumbles and a huge wall, firming up like concrete, guards the curve of the river. You feel the crash as the tree strikes the dam. Water laps up over it and showers down on those closest to the bagged dirt wall. Someone cheers, and the sound rises somehow over the rushing water. 

You vomit everything out of your stomach until there’s nothing left. 

X X X

Something licks your hand, making your eyes snap open. “Lu,” you say, your voice sounding awful. You try to move and fall back with a groan, pressing your flesh hand to your forehead. You’re hot, and sweaty, and your head is pounding. It hurts to breathe. 

“You’re sick.” Winry’s voice. Sounds funny, like she’s underwater. “You pushed yourself too far. The doctor said you have pneumonia, have had it for a while.” 

You blink at her, trying to figure out which version of her is the actual one. 

“But you kept the river from overflowing and wiping out the Nedobeck’s farm. Thank you, Ed.” She bows her head to you. 

It’s too hard to keep your eyes open, so you shut them again. 

X X X

It’s a few days before you can even leave the bed, and then, you’re so shaky, you need help. Winry is there, propping you up with your arm over her shoulders like always, but this time, you have two good legs, not one. She helps you to the lavatory, and then, because you insist, the living room so you can sit up for a while and not see the same walls. By the time you’re there, you’re exhausted and trembling, and you sink onto the couch in relief. You think you must’ve dozed off, or fell unconscious, you’re not sure which, because when you open your eyes again, there’s a cup of tea steaming in front of you. You take it in both hands, drinking. It tastes good, warms you up, and you sigh softly, closing your eyes again for a few seconds. 

“Careful.” Winry takes the cup from you and sets it on the end table. She’s watching you and you blink at her a couple of times to make sure she’s in focus. 

“What?” you ask, your voice still sounding weird. 

“If you hadn’t been here, Mr. Nedobeck and Randy would’ve died.” 

“They’re welcome.” You close your eyes to avoid hers.

X X X

You twitch, realizing you’d fallen asleep again. It’s dark out. You don’t smell rain, so it’s just night, not another storm. Something savory tickles your nose, and its enough to make your mouth water. Winry must be cooking. You try to get up, and on your third attempt, make it, though everything spins around you for a few seconds. You wait until it settles, then make your way to the dining room, holding onto the walls to keep your balance. You feel like crap, but you can’t remember when you last felt really good, either. 

Winry glances up at you, gives you a studying look, then nods to the table. You’re okay to reach it, but you nearly fall into the chair you pull out. Your flesh hand is shaking when you lay it on the table. 

“Here.” Winry sets a bowl in front of you. 

You smell chicken broth, and see dark green chopped leaves and white beans. Thick, crusty bread is on the table, along with a slab of pale butter bearing the imprint from the Todds’ dairy. A glass of lemonade, beaded with sweat, is next to your bowl. You pick up your spoon carefully and dip it into the broth. “Smells good, Winry.” 

“I hope you like it.” She sits across from you with her own bowl, tearing bread and dropping it into the soup. Stirring it all together, she scoops up some of the now-slimy broth, she sups at it, her eyes nearly closed. 

It’s a good soup, you think, tasty, and not heavy, which you’re pretty sure you couldn’t keep down right now. You break off a piece of bread and dunk it in the broth, sucking on the crust. It’s salty and a little spicy and tastes better than anything you’ve eaten since you can remember. You hope you can finish it. 

“Ed, why didn’t you use alchemy to shore up the riverbank to start off with?” 

The question nearly curdles your stomach, but you manage to keep the few bites you’ve eaten down as you set your piece of bread on the table. How do you tell Winry this? She’s not an alchemist. At this point, you don’t even remember what she might know about alchemy. You remember she didn’t trust it, or like it, or it scared her, but that was when you were all little kids, wasn’t it? Scrubbing your flesh hand over your face, you sigh. “It’s the other world. I found out something about alchemy there.” 

Winry raises her eyebrows at you, spooning up more broth. 

“There are people there, Winry, just like the people here.” You don’t want to explain about the doubles you saw. That’s a story for another day, if ever. “Except there isn’t any alchemy. Women…don’t get a lot of say about what happens in their lives in general. That’s not what I wanted to tell you about, though.” You have to push the bowl of soup away, but you do take a drink of lemonade to cool your throat. “The people there, I guess they had some way of crossing between there and here for a while. They did study alchemy, but they went to straight science. Alchemy isn’t even thought of any more there.”

Her expression is neutral, and you’re not sure if she’s actually listening or not, even though she seems to be focused on you. Well, you and her soup. Her bowl is definitely a lot emptier than yours. And it’s still not what you need to tell her. What you want to tell her. “Alchemy here, well, something has to provide fuel for it. It’s not just…a person’s will, but that’s a big part of it. But will doesn’t provide all the power, it has to come from somewhere. There are all sorts of theories out there,” you wave your hand, “about where that power comes from. I never thought of it, really, I knew it was there and I could use it, and I did.” You hold her gaze with yours, like it’s a lifeline. If you let go, if she drops her eyes – “I’m not an alchemist any more, Winry. I can’t be. I won’t use that power!”

She stirs her soup with her spoon. “You used it to make the dam.” 

“Because you _made_ me!”

Winry slaps the table, making the liquids slosh in their containers. “So, you would’ve let those people die, Ed?”

Swallowing, you tighten your jaw, a mirror of her reaction a few seconds ago. You can’t look at her now. Would you have let them die? Could you? “I can’t talk about this any more.” You push back from the table and leave the room. 

X X X

You’re less shaky the next morning, but your stomach is going to gnaw its way out of your body cavity if you don’t put something in it. After dressing – you don’t recognize these clothes and think Winry must’ve left them for you - you head downstairs. In the kitchen, you cut off a slice of bread and layering a piece of mutton on it. Sinking your teeth into it, you moan softly, leaning your backside against the countertop in the kitchen. You eat your breakfast standing up, watching Lu as she trots into the room, sitting in front of you and cocking her head to one side. You’re not sure if you’d call it begging, but it’s pretty damned close. You give her a piece of the crust, and she gobbles it down, wagging her fluffy tail. 

“Where’s Winry?” you ask her, because if Lu’s up, Winry probably is, too. “Take me to Winry.” 

Lu cocks her head the other way and you roll your eyes at yourself for talking to a dog. Instead of asking her again, you set the kettle on a burner for some tea. After you have the tea steeping, you follow Lu outside to collect the eggs. No wonder you were hungry, you realize, seeing how high the morning sun is in the sky. Lu leads you to the eggs you don’t spot immediately, and you carry them into the house. There are enough that Winry can trade to some of the other neighbors for cheese or meat or whatever it is she might need. You think you ought to figure out a way to contribute to the household, if you’re going to stay her. If she’s okay with you staying here. You’ve been kind of an asshole to her. Again. 

Winry’s in the kitchen when you come inside, pouring herself a cup of tea. You set the eggs down carefully on the counter. “There are another fifteen here,” you say to her, then add, “good morning.” 

“Morning,” Winry said, yawning behind her hand. 

“Do you, ah, have time to talk?” Rubbing the back of your neck, you peep at her through your bangs. 

She sits at the table as her answer, and you pour yourself a cup of tea and sit down, too. “I’m sorry I couldn’t finish telling you about the other world last night, and alchemy. It’s…hard. It’s why I…don’t want to be a State Alchemist any more, why I don’t want to use alchemy. I don’t even…” You shake your head. “Winry, all the times I used alchemy here, in Amestris, I didn’t know. You have to understand that.” 

“I don’t understand anything right now, Ed,” she says dryly. 

“I suck at explaining things,” you tell her, totally serious. “But this, this changes everything, everything I ever thought about alchemy, even after I learned what the Philosopher’s Stone was made of.” You’d told her, you remember telling her. Didn’t you? “People die in that other world, and their souls,” your voice catches. _Al._ “Their souls are used to fuel alchemy here. When they die, that life force – it’s fuel, Winry, just intrinsic power to make a transmutation circle work. That’s why I didn’t want to use alchemy to make the dam! I couldn’t.” You shake your head, closing your eyes tight. “I might’ve used Al’s soul as fuel for, for.” Your voice gives out and you cup your head in your hands. 

The sweet-smelling steam from your tea bathes your face. You wait for Winry to say something, anything. Finally getting control of yourself, you pick up your cup, taking a sip of the tea. It’s cooled enough it doesn’t burn your mouth. You risk a look at Winry, and wonder at her expression. 

“Ed,” she said, in a tone that sounds familiar, “do you really believe that Al would care if you used his soul to help other people? To save lives? To do some good in this world? Do you think he wouldn’t have given that up willingly?” She shook her head. “Did you know Al at all?”

You stutter, your face flushing. “B-but.”

“But nothing, Ed!” Her eyes glitter, and you’re as fixed on them as if they speared through your body. “Al would be okay with that. Most people would! It’s – it’s a good thing, Ed! Don’t you see? You saved lives by making that dam.”

“But people had to die for me to do it!”

“Did they die just because you used the alchemy, or did they die, and you used their souls afterward?” Mouth gaping, you don’t have an answer for her. Winry stares at you, her brows furrowing. “Do people die in that other world when you use alchemy, Ed?” 

“I - ” can’t answer that, you can’t. Because you’re not sure. Al sacrificed his body to send you back through to this world. Did he lose his soul then, too? Or is his soul still free, maybe here, in his universe? Waiting to be used like fuel? “Damn it!”

“Ed, everyone dies.” Winry’s squeezing your hands, and you’re not sure when she took hold of them. “Everyone. Your Mom, my parents, Granny, Al.” Her fierce voice hitches as she adds, “Robert and Molly.” “ _Everyone_ dies. If – if there’s some way for them to be – I don’t know, useful – isn’t that best?” She shakes your hands. “Isn’t it? Still helping people!” Tears spill down her cheeks. “A-Al, he’d – Granny’d…Mr. Hughes – they’d _do_ that. They wouldn’t care ‘cause they’re still – still helping.” You want to pull away, disagree, but what she says makes sense. Still, you can’t think of Al’s soul, being consumed by a transmutation circle. Mom’s soul. Even the old man’s. Winry’s squeezing your hands, and your flesh one aches from the pressure on it. “You have to understand that, Ed.” 

You wish you could.

X X X

It’s dusk, and you’re sitting on the steps of the porch, watching Lu run around in the yard. She’s chasing her tail, then throws herself on the grass on her back and wriggles, then jumps back on her feet again, running like a mad thing. The porch door squeals and pops as it opens and closes, and Winry settles down on the steps next to you. She wraps her arms around her knees. As if she senses Winry’s presence, Lu dashes up, dropping down onto her elbows, her butt in the air and tail wagging. She barks once, looking at Winry out of the corners of her eyes. 

“You’re a crazy dog,” Winry tells her, and Lu runs off, speeding in a huge circle. 

“Where did she come from?” 

“Mr. Coyle brought her to me. She was the runt of her litter, and he said he didn’t think she’d amount to much. Didn’t think she’d live, her mom wouldn’t nurse her. I had to feed her by bottle, and make her poop and pee. I didn’t really want a dog, but.” Winry shrugs. “I guess I needed something.” 

You stare out at the lawn, and the dog running around on it. “I’m sorry about your husband and daughter.” It’s weird to say, stranger to think about. Al had speculated about Winry and what happened to her after you both left Amestris. You’d snorted and said she was a gearhead, would always be a gearhead, and left it at that. But Al, he’d been more wistful, wondering if there might be a husband and kids, wondering if she might name them ‘Al’ or ‘Ed’. Molly answered that question. 

“I’m sorry about Al,” she says.

Taking a deep breath, you fumble your hand over, taking hers and giving it a squeeze. Winry twines her fingers with yours, and the two of you watch Lu together. 

X X X

“I need something to do,” you tell Winry. “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

She cocks an eyebrow at you over the magnifying glasses she wears to work on automail limbs. “What?” 

“I need a job.” I’m bored, you want to say.

“You have a job. You’re a State Alchemist.” She makes a face when you wave your hand in disgust. “Well, you are…but they,” her eyes drift sideways. Is that a blush?

“Winry?”

“I…um. I have your military allotment.” 

For a few seconds, you don’t know what she’s talking about, then it comes back to you – the paperwork Hawkeye had you complete, in case something happened to you while you were in the military. You’d made Al your beneficiary; and if something happened to him, Winry was to get the allotment. You hadn’t known what to do with it, anyway. Since both of you were gone, Winry received the money. “What’d you do with it?” you ask. 

Winry shrugs, still not looking at you. “I never touched it.” You think she mumbles, “I didn’t want blood money from the military.” 

X X X

You see Al, blood dripping from his mouth, but can’t tell – is it Alfons or Alphonse? You scream, trying to reach out to him, to stop him from this, but they’re both smiling at you, sweet, heart-breaking smiles, as they activate the transmutation circle together. The lightning blue circle ignites, searing their hands and up their arms, swallowing them up as the ink-black hands grab you, wrapping you in ribbons and dragging you down into the circle. You shout, “Al! Alphonse! Al, no!” but your words come out like a whisper. “No! Al! You can’t! You can’t!” You reach for them but the ribbon-hands hold you too tight, pulling you away from Alphonse-Alfons and –

Something booms like an explosion and you’re jolted up out of your bed, gasping and looking around wildly. It takes a few seconds for you to realize where you are, and you want to curl up and howl at the world for taking your brother from you. If you’d stayed in the other world – but think, you remind yourself, your automail would’ve eventually failed, and you’re smart, but no automail mechanic. Who would you have been able to trust with your arm and your leg – with your life? 

Shaking your head, you run your flesh fingers through your sweat-damp hair. “Damn it,” you mumble, trying to massage out the headache blooming in your temples. Your ports ache, a prelude to the upcoming storm. 

Aspirin, you think, and climb out of the bed to get some. And maybe a book, because you don’t think you’ll be sleeping any more tonight. 

X X X


	5. In Broken Dreams 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion of the story.

Another storm arrives a couple of days later in the form of a knock at the door. You open it, wishing you hadn’t. Since you’d used alchemy to keep the river from flooding, you’d half-expected a visit from someone in Amestrian blue. It came as no shock to see him on Winry’s porch. “Mustang.”

He studies you, and you try not to stare at his ruined face and the eye patch covering most of it. “Hello, Fullmetal. I’d say I’m surprised to see you, but I’d be lying.”

There was one military officer in Risembool, well, not even in Risembool, but in the next town over. Someone must’ve mentioned you damming the river, and alchemists are always in need in service. You mentally sigh. Next to you, Lu is making a weird sound, kind of like barking under her breath. “Go lie down,” you tell her, and open the door. “I guess since you’ve come all this way, I’ll invite you in.” You hesitate, peering beyond him. “Where’s Hawkeye?”

“We met Miss Rockbell at the station, inadvertently. She sent me on to speak to you.” Mustang scuffs his boots clean and you lead him to the kitchen, letting him seat himself. You start the kettle heating on the stove to make some tea. Lu lies in the corner, where she can watch both of you. 

“So,” Mustang’s voice doesn’t quite make you jump, but the hair on the back of your neck stands up. “How long have you been in Amestris?”

“Almost a month.” You open the cupboard. “Before you ask,” you can say it, you can, “Al’s…Al is dead. In the other world.” It doesn’t feel like you’ll throw up this time. You swallow anyway. “He made a transmutation circle and sent me back.” You can’t go on, shaking your head. Taking down four cups, you set them on the counter, figuring Winry and Hawkeye might join you later. 

“And you didn’t report in?” Mustang asks silkily. 

He can still make you want to punch something, but you force yourself to ignore his tone, shrugging. “Winry says she’s been getting my allotment. That means I’m dead, right? Dead people don’t report to anyone.” 

“Missing in action,” Mutang raps out. When you turn around, you catch him staring at you, but you can’t read his expression. Bastard must be a great poker player. 

You twitch like a bug under a magnifying glass. “Close enough,” you say, folding your arms and leaning back against the counter. “I’m not rejoining the military, so don’t bother asking.”

“This from the People’s Alchemist?” 

“No, this from a man aged beyond his years.” The space behind your left eye twinges and you hope it doesn’t develop into another headache. “I’ve seen enough hatred and battles in the years I’ve been away.” You eye him back. “Probably the equivalent of your experiences in Ishbal,” except you didn’t kill anyone, at least not that you’re aware of. You got into some fights, sure, got beaten up, did some beating yourself, but no one died. Except Al. “I’m tired of it, Roy.”

His only reaction to my using his name is a bare blink. He covers it with a scoff. “So you’re going to hide out here, in Risembool?” 

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll do some traveling. I’ve always wanted to see Xing.” You wonder if it’s like China in the other world. It seemed that way. 

Mustang says, “You know, the military still needs alchemists.” 

You wave him off. “Pass.” 

“I could order you to return to the military.” He still stares at you. 

You meet his eye. “You could. I’d probably ignore it.” 

“You can’t avoid a court martial forever, Fullmetal.” 

Jutting your jaw, you say, “I could in Xing.” 

“Your mechanic is here.” 

“I’ll take her with me.” The words come out before you think about it, and you wonder whether you can take Lu, too – and whether Winry would even want to go anywhere with you. 

The eyebrow cock is the one you remember, despite the patch. “Do you really believe you can escape the military that easily, Edward?”

You spread your hands. “I’m _dead_ as far as the military is concerned. And I won’t use alchemy any more.” 

“You did at the river.” 

“Extenuating circumstances.” You don’t say Winry made you. “I can not be a Human Weapon. I can’t be an alchemist. I won’t be.”

“So do research,” Mustang says, “and stay in Central City.” 

“Until Drachma invades, or Creta breaks the treaty, then I get dragged back into a war. Not interested, Mustang.” The kettle whistles, breaking your gaze, and you pour the hot water over the tea leaves, releasing the aroma. You busy yourself with the teapot for a little bit, then set it on the table. 

“Hawkeye said you wouldn’t come back to the military,” Mustang says lightly as you set a cup in front of him. “I suppose I’ll have to tell her she’s right. Again.” 

“You suggested I join the military to get access to the information I needed to get Al’s body back. I did that.” You don’t add, ‘without help from the military’; in the end, it was the sacrifice of your own body that accomplished the actual exchange. But if you hadn’t been in the military, you’d have never found out what you did, ultimately leading to your understanding of what you needed to sacrifice – you decide not to continue down that path. Not now, not with Mustang here. “I don’t have any reason now to be in the military.”

“Except for all the people who believe you a hero.” He leans toward you. “There is a great deal more you can offer Amestris, Edward.” 

For a few seconds you consider it, remember what it felt like to be the Fullmetal Alchemist. Then you remember how much of a child you were, and how much horror you saw. The blood on your hands has never washed clean, not from Majihal, not from Greed, not from the people who died in Lior. Definitely not Nina’s blood. You remember how you treated the people who’d only wanted to help you, and how you’d pushed them away. Your single-mindedness could’ve cost people their lives. It had very nearly cost you something you hadn’t even realized you valued, until you’d realized you’d lost it. “Not interested.” 

You look up in time to realize Mustang’s gaze has softened. “Of course not,” he says, lowering his head so you cannot read his expression. “How foolish of me to consider otherwise.” Rising to his feet, he adds, “You do know I won’t be the only one who investigates. And any other alchemy you do will just bring additional attention.” 

You get up, too, hearing Lu patter up from her corner. “I won’t be using alchemy.” 

“Until another emergency comes up, and you are coerced or otherwise encouraged to use it, and someone sees it, and reports it to the military.” Mustang gestures at you. “Sooner or later, your name will be reported, too, and you will return to the military to fulfill your contract, or face an AWOL charge, and possibly a court martial trial.” 

You cock your head. “Are you threatening me?” 

Mustang’s smile is not particularly pleasant as he shrugs. “You could come back in and request to be relieved of your duties.” 

“Would I be allowed to resign?” 

“Perhaps, if you could explain where you’ve been for the past,” his eye cuts to the right, “twelve years, it might be possible.” 

How would you explain another world without someone getting the brilliant idea of trying to get there? Some people were too power-hungry to be trusted with that kind of information. “I won’t be able to, unless it might be considered I was a prisoner of war.” 

Mustang rubs his chin. “Maybe,” he said. “It might work. I’ll have Fuery research it.” 

“If that doesn’t work,” you force your hands to loosen; you smile, “I’ll change my name.” It isn’t a bad idea, though you’re not sure you could actually go through with it. 

If Mustang rolled his eye, you miss it. “This town is so insulated from the rest of Amestris, you don’t think everyone knows who you are?” 

“Are you trying to convince me to return to the military or to run and hide?” You’re genuinely curious. “We both know I’m not really military material. I wasn’t that good of a soldier. I never followed orders – how many times did you yell at me for that? I don’t want to be a poster boy,” your face screws up in distaste, “and I won’t use alchemy. I really mean that, Mustang. You could point a firing squad my way, and.” You shake your head. 

“But if one is pointed at someone else?” His words flow like silk, and you realize he’s moved around the table, standing extraordinarily close to you. “Say Miss Rockbell.” 

Hissing through your clenched teeth, “Leave her out of this, bastard. You owe her more than I do, and I owe her my life.” You clench your hands, automail servos whining. 

“Ah, as always, something will get a rise out of you. It’s good to know some things don’t change.” You don’t like Mustang’s smile, and are about to tell him so when he turns abruptly, waving at you over his shoulder. “If I can think of using Miss Rockbell as leverage, how many others might?” He doesn’t look back as he says, “Take care of yourself, Edward. Take care of her.” 

You watch after his retreating back as he makes his way down the path to the road, wondering if you’ll see him again. 

It’s only about an hour later when Winry comes through the door, a little flushed from the wind outside. Her eyes widen, her mouth opens when she sees you. She stops dead still in the doorway, with Lu dancing around her. “Ed,” she says, breathless, surprised. “You’re still here.” 

And you hadn’t been, so many times before. You still manage a smile. “I hope that’s a good thing?” 

Winry slams into you, her arms around your waist, burying her face in your shoulder. Shock freezes you for a second, but this time, you hug her back, hard. It’s difficult to let her go, but when she loosens her grip, you do, too. She backs up and tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear. You know that nervous gesture, because you have to drop your hand from where it’s trying to rub the back of your neck. “I thought,” Winry glances at you, then away, not finishing her sentence, instead saying, “It’s a good thing, Ed.” She walks out of the room, leaving you watching as Lu trots after her. 

X X X

It’s night time, and you sit on the porch steps, enjoying the sights of the stars and planets above. You know all of the constellations, the Lion and the Plow, and the Archer, his bow drawn. He aims at the Stag, but doesn’t see the Bear stalking him from behind. The Two Dogs and the Weaver aren’t visible yet, but you know they, and the Triplets, and the Ox, will march across the sky before the sun rises. You wonder if any of those points of light might be visible from Earth. The constellations were different there, the planets strange. The moon seemed smaller, and the sun not as bright. But there were a lot of things odd about the other world. 

Lu comes outside and sits beside you, and you rumple her ears. Winry follows her dog, and, while she doesn’t sit, you can feel the radiant warmth from her body on your back. Scooting over, you pat the step. 

Sighing, Winry folds herself up next to you, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I figured you’d be gone by the time I got home.” 

You start to say something, but think Winry has a right to say her piece, and keep your mouth closed. 

“It’s what I’ve come to expect.” 

That hurt, but it it’s not like Winry isn’t right. She doesn’t offer an apology, either. 

“I think this is the longest you’ve been here since,” she pauses.

Since the night you tried to bring your Mom back from the dead, and wound up creating a monster, instead. Since you’d needed port surgery, and physical therapy to learn to use your automail. You’d spent three days here after Scar destroyed your arm, and then, afterward, Winry wound up traveling with you for a while. It wasn’t the same as being home. 

You try not to jump when she leans against you. “I missed you, when you disappeared the first time,” Winry says softly. “At first, I thought you must’ve used your life to get Al back, but that didn’t last long. I mean, you might’ve died for Al, but you wouldn’t have killed yourself.” Humor laces through her words, but it’s bittersweet. “After a while, I was the only one. Even Al had his doubts, because he couldn’t remember you.” 

Al had told you about that; that his memories of all your travels together had been lost. He regained them, but. You twine your fingers together, blinking at the blurring stars overhead. 

“When you left the second time, I was sad. You didn’t say goodbye, again. And Al was gone, too, so I knew you wouldn’t come back.” 

Drawing a breath to protest, you hold it. What can you say? “I…I wanted to keep Amestris…you…safe.” It still sounds weak, after Al had yelled at you that you could’ve worked together to close the gate from Amestris, and not gone back to the other world. Still…“We were trying to find a man with a bomb, to make sure he didn’t set it off.” 

“Did you find him?”

You sigh. “No.” And you don’t want to talk about the things you did find. People could be horrible to each other. “I’m sorry, Winry. I – I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t see any other way to stop them. I never wanted to make you sad.” Risking a glance at her, all you can see is the crown of her head and the tip of her nose. “Really. Every time you cried, it hurt me. I hoped…hoped you’d found a reason to smile after we left.” 

“Robert made me smile.” 

“What happened to Molly and him?” You ask the question gently, not sure if Winry will answer. When she doesn’t say anything, you think it’s too soon, but she inhales, and lets it out again, and tells you. 

“The river was flooding. Robert went down to help. I was making supper, and didn’t realize Molly’d left the house to go after him.” She falls quiet, and your imagination paints a picture. You’re not sure what happened, but you can guess; a little girl and a flooding river, and the little girl’s father trying to save her. “They’re buried next to Granny in the old cemetery.” 

There are too many factors to say for certain, but maybe alchemy could have saved her daughter and her husband. It’s no wonder Winry slapped you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

She whispers back, “Me, too.” 

X X X 

Spring suddenly gives way to summer, and the days are longer, and, at first softer, but the sun begins to bear down. Risembool isn’t that hot; it has a mild climate, but you’re still recovering from your pneumonia, and the damage it did to your lungs. You spend as much time outside as you can, baking your skin brown. You push yourself more than you should, but you want to do something for Winry, prove that you can be something more than a nuisance. Your garden flourishes in the warm weather, putting out vines and leaves and flowers, and bringing in bees and butterflies. You planted vegetables, sure, but along the borders, you planted flowers, too; bachelor’s buttons in various hues; sunflowers for their color and their seeds both, if you can get to them before the birds and squirrels; hollyhocks to vie with the sunflowers for height; marigolds to protect the tomatoes from insects; lavender, because of the way it smells, and how it could perfume clothing in drawers and closets. 

When the first flowers open, you pick a bouquet and bring them inside, putting them in a canning jar with water, and setting them on the table. 

Winry’s smile makes all your hard work worthwhile.

X X X

You’re eating an apple for lunch when Winry comes into the kitchen. Her face is set and you don’t like how tight her jaw is. The man who follows her explains it all; the elderly soldier from the next town over. He has his hat in his hand and a pleading expression in his old blue eyes. “You’re Edward Elric,” he says, without preamble, “and I need your help.” 

Glancing at Winry, you can she she’s not getting involved. Lu paces next to her legs, whining softly, and Winry touches the dog’s head, settling her. 

You take a deep breath. “I’m not an alchemist any more.” 

“You made a dam during the flood,” he says. “You can help me, can’t you?” He absently strokes the brim of his hat and you grit your teeth. 

Damn it. 

X X X

There is a man, always a man. You wonder why women aren’t interested in this kind of trouble, then think of Eckhart, and her plans for Amestris. Major Meinrad tells you of the man, ex-military, leading a group of others, and the way they challenge the farmers on their way to town with their local harvest, requesting a toll for their safe passage. He is starting small, but Meinrad thinks he’ll escalate and become more trouble than he’s worth. 

“I’m not using alchemy,” you warn Meinrad.

He shrugs. “As long as you can help catch Bevan, I don’t care what you use.” 

You turn to Winry as Major Meinrad leaves the house, to wait for you outside on the porch. “I won’t be gone long,” you tell her. 

Winry cocks her head to the side, and gives you a faint smile. You’re pretty sure she doesn’t believe you, but at least she’s willing to let you say it. 

Lu follows you down to the road, and barks at you when you keep walking. 

X X X

Meinrad has some information on Bevan. It’s not as in-depth as you’ve come to expect from Mustang’s men or Hughes’s investigations, but about similar to what you’d had in Europe and Germany. You’re going to be busy, you think; and sigh mentally. Hopefully, you’ll get home soon. You think about Winry and Lu and the yellow house on the hill for a few seconds, then put them out of your mind. You have work to do.

X X X

The farmers let you come with them as a farmhand on their journeys, let you sit in stores and listen to gossip. They don’t know you, but they recognize Winry’s automail when you roll up your shirtsleeves, and that eases their concerns. You just introduce yourself as ‘Ed’, not wanting them to have your full name. You make sure Meinrad doesn’t give it out, either. You don’t want to alert Bevan before it’s time. 

Two long weeks pass, and you find yourself bored at nights in a rough military hotel. You could drink in the tavern across the street, but while you’d sometimes taken solace in the bottom of a bottle in the other world, it doesn’t seem right here. Instead, you find yourself writing Winry. 

X X X

_Dear Winry,_

_It’s late and I’m bored, and nothing’s happened yet. I’m still as impatient as you probably remember, and it’s making me crazy. There aren’t any libraries here in town, and there’s nothing here to keep my interest, really._

_There isn’t any information on Bevan except he used to be military. Meinrad sent out a request for his files from Central, but that might take weeks to get here. Hopefully, I’ll be back ~~home~~ in Risembool by the time it arrives. _

_People recognize your automail. Looks like you’re getting to be a household name, huh?_

_~~Thinking of you,~~ _

_~~Still stuck here,~~ _

_~~Yours,~~ _

No, definitely not that. You chew on the end of your fountain pen and finally just sign your name. 

X X X

_Winry,_

_It stormed last night and I had a nightmare. I dreamed I was back in Europe, with Al, and you were there, too. It was awful; all grey and wet, and the Brown Shirts were hauling away people. They did that to people they didn’t think were ‘pure’ – the Jews, the Romany, the infirm._

_One of them grabbed me, and ripped my jacket to show my automail arm. “Infirm!” he screamed, and I tried to fight, but it was like I was in mud. I yelled at Al to get you out of there, to keep you safe, but you refused to go._

_And one of the Brown Shirts raised his pistol and he shot._

_You and Al both fell, and there was so much blood, and I woke up, lost and confused. I nearly called you then, to make sure you were okay, but I thought it would be stupid. And it was so late at night, and you probably were sleeping, or working on automail, and I didn’t want to interrupt either._

_I probably won’t mail this letter to you, but I had to write it anyway, and get it out of my system._

_I miss you,_

_Ed_

X X X

_Not everything in the other world was awful. Al and I made a friend there, a Romany girl, Noah. She_ damn, this is weird to write _fell in love with me. I cared about here, too; her race of people weren’t trusted by most of the other races, but she ~~always treated me fair~~_ no, that’s not quite right _was kind, and could be generous, once she learned it was okay to trust people other than her own race. I guess even her own people treated her pretty badly, and what I learned when I was traveling with the Rom didn’t really make them seem like they were any better or worse than the other people of Europe. The Rom had really strict rules, that the men had say over their wives, or their daughters, or their sisters, and the women couldn’t argue that point. That anyone not Rom wasn’t to be trusted – which meant that Al and I were always looked at suspiciously, even though Noah vouched for us. That the other races were lesser than the Rom, and therefore, anything that could be gotten over on them was for the good of the Rom. They were thieves, in more ways than one, though honorable amongst themselves, for the most part. Al really liked their horses, which were beautiful, even I’ll admit to that._

_Girls were supposed to remain virgin until they were married. I didn’t know that part, and Noah, well, she was_ you try to think how to say it, how to word it. Finally write, _it was my fault, too. I don’t know if any of her family figured it out, but her brother or cousin, I never could figure out which, insisted she was going to be married to another Rom family to fix some sort of bond between them, like royal houses marrying to stop a war or something. Noah wanted to tell them that we’d had sex, and I told her ‘no, don’t,’ because by then, Al was sick, and I didn’t want us to get thrown out of the caravan._

_That happened anyway, and I made Noah leave with her people. I figured it’d be safer for her with them than with us._

_I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. I don’t even know if you’d want to know about it. But it feels good to tell someone, even though I felt like I was using Noah to anchor myself in that world. I don’t know if I loved her; I’m not sure I would’ve married her, even if her people would’ve allowed it._

_I think she pinned her hopes on me, though, and I still had Al to think of. You probably know how that feels, huh? Would you have sympathized with Noah, or would you’ve told her to get over it? Or would you’ve beaten me silly for even considering having sex with her?_

_Your stupid friend,_

_Ed_

X X X

_Winry,_

_Bevan’s making his move soon. I’ve gotten word that he’s haunting a particular road into town._

_I hope to see you soon._

_Miss you,_

_Ed_

X X X

It’s been three weeks since you’ve arrived in this town, and you finally get word of Bevan sniffing around a particular road into town. You join up with a farmer, dragging a battered straw hat on to hide your hair and eyes. You wear your old clothes, not the ones Winry gave you. They’re battered enough to fit in as a laborer in any world. The threadbare fabric is appropriately dirty, from working in your garden and with these farmers. You hope Winry’s keeping an eye on the garden back in Risembool. 

Mr. Handlin has a load of watermelons on his wagon, and his son drives a second wagon full of corn. You ride with Mr. Handlin, sitting in the back with the melons. It gives you a better chance to look around from back there. 

Nothing happens on the way to town, and you help unload the watermelons and corn onto the train to take it into Central. You’re tired by the time everything’s unloaded, and Mr. Handlin offers you a drink in the local bar. You just drink water, though Handlin and his son have a few mugs of beer. They’re a little tipsy by the time you’re ready to go home, but the horses know the way. 

Of course, with their wallets full of money and slightly tipsy, they’re perfect marks. You pretend you’re drunk, too, lolling back in the wagon and ignoring the way the ruts in the dirt road shudder through the wheel bases. You’ve always been able to sleep through anything, but you need to stay awake now. The horses plod along, and you can see Handlin’s son sagging in the wagon behind you. 

You’re a good twenty kilometers out of town when the attack happens, men swooping in on fast-moving little horses. The wagons jolt as they stop, Handlin’s son tumbling to the ground. You stay where you are, hat pulled low, while the men whoop and shout and Handlin cries out in anger. His son starts to pick himself up off the ground, then plays dead when someone sticks a spear in the dirt next to his head. You wait while someone drags Handlin off his bench and onto the road. The men and their horses spin around the wagons, a kaleidoscope of movement. If you’d been drinking, you know your head would be whirling. As it is, you wait, wait until the horses stop moving, wait until Bevan makes his move, leaping from his mount to confront Handlin and insist on his money. Bevan thrusts a gun into Handlin’s ribs, and orders him to hand it over. 

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch loudly in the tense silence, and everyone turns your way. You smile a little bit, and say, “Don’t give it to him, Mr. Handlin,” as you hop out of the wagon. 

The clicks of pistols being cocked makes your stomach clench but you’ve heard it before. If someone was going to shoot, they would’ve already. You wonder how many bullets they actually have. From a quick glance around, you think the guns look ancient, though in very good shape. Some of them might be single-shooters, needing to be loaded again after the trigger is pulled. And there aren’t as many guns as they might want you to believe; you see spears and swords, too. Now, that didn’t mean some of the men weren’t hiding automail weapons beneath their jackets and cloaks, but you’ll take your chances as you walk toward Bevan and Handlin. 

“Are you his boss?” Bevan asks, sneering at you. 

“Nope.” You shrug, peering at him. He’s taller than you, and broader, too; reminding you of that idiot you’d fought on the train so many years ago, Bald? Yeah, that was his name. “Just a concerned citizen, wondering why someone like you is taking it out on hardworking farmers.” 

Bevan laughs uproariously. “Why should I tell you?” 

You smile and scratch the back of your neck lazily. “How about if you and I have a fight. Just the two of us. If I win, you tell me why you’re doing this. If you win, you can have all of Mr. Handlin’s money. I’ll even tell you where he hid part of it.” Handlin gulps and sends a dark look your way. You ignore him, grinning at Bevan. “Well? What do you say?” 

A knife glitters as it arcs toward your ribs and you leap backward, nearly crashing into one of Bevan’s horses. The animal complains and sidesteps when you use its body as leverage, pushing off its bulk to fling yourself at Bevan. He feints with his knife, then drives it in, and you block it with your arm, the blade ringing off your automail arm. He laughs again at the tear in your sleeve, and the gleam of metal showing through it. “So, you’ve got a secret of your own,” he says. 

“Oh, more than one,” you admit, your smile widening. 

Bevan’s fast, you’ll give him that, but you’re still faster. You pivot out of his blade’s range and use the momentum to throw a roundhouse kick. It hits Bevan’s shoulder, sending him back a few steps, but he’s so big, you know he’ll take a lot more punishment to get taken down. Unless…

You let him lead the attacks, let him push you back out of the ring. The men move out of your way, laughing and offering advice. The horses whinny and stomp their feet, around despite their riders hanging on their reins. Handlin’s son is in the way and you have to jump to keep from running over the top of him. He curls into a ball while you lead Bevan sideways to keep him from crashing into the kid. You let Bevan get in a few strikes, still blocking with your automail, but enough to let him think he might be able to beat you. Besides, you want to keep him interested, and moving, and wear him out a little bit before you take him to the ground. 

He’s not showing any loss of speed, but you can see the veins starting to pop on his forearms and throat. He bites his lip as he lunges toward you, and you leap backward, run into wagon, and drop to the ground when Bevan stabs his knife. You roll onto your back, scissoring your legs so the automail limb strikes first, slamming into Bevan’s shin. His howl cuts through the excitement of his men and he hops on one leg. You kick the other leg, sending him sprawling while you roll backward into a crouch, then leap forward, punching Bevan’s knife wrist hard enough to make him release the blade. It drops to the ground and you kick it farther away, putting your automail knee on Bevan’s throat. 

“Okay,” you say, giving Bevan’s men a look, “you remember what you said, right? You’d tell me why you’re attacking farmers if I beat you. Well,” you show him a lot of teeth, “I beat you.” 

A couple of pistols click as they’re cocked, but Bevan waved a weak hand. “He’s right,” he shouts, “put up your weapons.” Well, he tries to shout, your knee happens to be resting on his throat, making it harder for him to speak. You lift up just a little bit, letting him gasp in a breath or two. You’ve made your point, after all. 

“I want all of you to put down your weapons in a pile in the back of that wagon,” you shout, and Bevan reluctantly backs up your order, though his glare lets you know he hates that he’s lost to you. His men are reluctant, but Handlin grabs a pistol and waves it in the air, and when he points it at a bad-ass, the rest of them decide not to argue, not much at least. When all the weapons are thrown on the wagon, you get off of Bevan, grabbing his knife and tucking it into the back of your belt. Bevan scrambles up, with you keeping an eye on him. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had something up his sleeve – it’d be how you’d do this, after all. What he doesn’t know is who you are, and what you can do, if you have to. Even if you don’t want to – the idea of doing any type of transmutation still turns your stomach – you know what you’ll do to protect Handlin and his son, if not yourself. 

“All right,” you say, climbing up on the wagon so everyone can see you. “The military is aware of what you’re doing. How long do you think it’ll be before a unit of troops comes down, and wipes you out? Don’t any of you have family? Won’t they be worried – disappointed – at what you’re doing? If you’re lucky, you’ll go to jail. If you aren’t, you could lose a limb, or even your life. Is that what you want to do?”

“We already did that in the wars,” Bevan snarls at you. 

“Yeah? Well, so did I.” You brandish your automail arm; a lie, but it got their attention. “Do you think I don’t know what you went through? I went through it, too, not knowing if I was going to be alive from one morning to the next. Not knowing if there was any way I could protect the people around me, but knowing I had to do my best! And there are days when I still feel that way, and I’m not even in the military any more! But I’m not taking advantage of people who didn’t do anything to me. I’m trying to live my life the best way I can.” You stab your automail finger at Bevan. “You idiots are hurting the people who might be able to help you, you know!” 

“Help us how?” one of the men asks, stepping out of the circle to confront you.

“We could hire you for work,” Handlin says, his voice mild. 

“We’re soldiers,” the man spat. 

“Used t’be, you mean. An’ you’re not soldiering, are you? You’re a nuisance.” Handlin sniffs, and you think that has more of an effect on the man than anything you can say. “It’s like the lad says, what you’re doing makes you a threat, and you know how the military handles threats. Do you wanna end up plowed into a field, or plowing the field?” He makes a hand gesture that’s more than a little obscene, and most of the men laugh at it. You try to keep from blushing, hoping that dusk will hide your darkening face. “Then you boys need to make your decisions, and they’d better be the right ones. You know the military won’t play around, they’ll just wipe you out, if you’re lucky.” 

You’re not going to shudder, you’re not, because you know what unlucky could mean in the military, even if you don’t believe in the tenants of ‘luck’. “Mr. Handlin’s right,” is what you say, because if these men are ex-soldiers, they ought to know what the military is capable of. And from the expressions on some of their faces, they do know. “If you’re smart, you’ll disband before there’s any more trouble.”

“Why should we listen to you?” Bevan spits at your feet, the sputum a glob on your shoe. 

Looking down at it, then at him, you say, “Because I kicked your ass, and I’ll kick anyone else’s ass in your group if he needs it.” You fold your arms, all but daring anyone to step up and take that first swing. “And you know that Handlin and I are right.” 

Whatever posturing they might’ve done, they all stare at you for a few seconds, then look away, and you know you’ve got them right where they need to be. “So, do you want to become productive members of society again, or do you want to get thrown in jail, or worse?” you announce, loud and clear. “You can have a little bit of time to think it over, but while you’re doing that, we’re heading into town. If you want to come with us, you’re welcome to it. If you decide that you’re not coming with us, well, if you’re found in this area again, I can’t be blamed for the consequences. You’ve been warned, and you know what the military can be like.”   
“And the men that you’ve been robbing don’t take kindly to it,” Handlin reminded. 

There are grumbles and shifting feet, with men glancing at each other and everywhere else but at you. You wait them out for a full two minutes, then hop down to help Handlin’s son back into his wagon and climb up to sit beside the man to make sure he’s steady enough to drive the horse. Pitching your voice to carry, you say, “Let’s go!” Handlin’s already in his wagon and clucking his horse into movement, and his son kicks the brake off and the wagon jolts a bit as his horse starts to follow. You don’t look back – looking back is for losers – but over the clop of hooves and jangle of harness, you hear muttered voices, and then the tramp of feet as the men fall in behind. 

X X X

You tell Meinrad to take all the credit. You don’t want any of it; you just want to go home. Funny, you think as you walk up the path leading to the Rockbell house, you’d never wanted to think of Risembool as ‘home’, but things have changed now. Hell, you’ve changed.

Lu squeals at the sight of you, barreling off the porch and straight at you, knocking you down in her enthusiasm. She’s licking your face and pawing at your chest, making high pitched sounds that hurt your ears. You shove at her, but she keeps coming back, her butt in the air and her tail wagging hard, her front legs spread and her chest pressed close to the ground. You know this pose. Lu offers it when she wants to play. 

“Get off, you crazy dog!” you yell, but you’re laughing anyway. Lu bounces around and jumps at you again, knocking you down just as you hear the screen door open. You twist your head, trying to block Lu’s nose, peering upside-down at Winry. 

Her mouth twitches up, but she says, “When you finish playing with the dog, I’ve got lunch on the table. It’s not much.” She shrugs slightly, admitting, “I wasn’t expecting you,” so softly, you almost don’t hear her; probably wouldn’t, if not for being able to see her mouth move. 

Sitting up, you move Lu out of your way, picking up your suit case as you get to your feet. You climb the steps to the porch as you try for jovial, and fail. “I said I’d be back, didn’t I?” 

Winry swallows and her voice catches as she whispers, “Welcome home.” 

This time, you hug her. And when her arms come up and hold you tight, you think, you’re never letting go again. 

X X X


	6. Shelter From the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed hates storms.

“Are you okay, Ed?” 

Winry leans into your view. “Fine,” you grate out, but ants race along your spine, and wasps sting inside your automail ports. Fuck. 

“You don’t look fine.” She studies you like you’re about to fly to pieces. The way you feel, maybe she’s right. Her face lights up, and you can almost see the ‘aha!’ in her eyes. “There’s a storm coming! You’re picking it up through your automail.” 

Like you need an explanation for the fire burning through your ports. Static crackles in the air. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You’ve known of the storm since the prickles started hours ago. Winry’s glee at figuring it out is just the annoying icing on the cake. Glaring will just set her to giggling. Instead, you grunt your displeasure, hunching in on yourself, like that’ll relieve the pain. 

“Oh, Ed.” Winry sighs, and leaves you to contemplate the next few hours of agony. 

You watch the winds push the trees around through the window. Clouds rush ahead of the breeze, thick and curling, with flashes of lightning illuminating their centers. The smell of rain tickles at your nose and the temperature drops noticeably as the storm rolls in. 

“Here.” Winry returns with two hot water bottles wrapped in towels. She gives one to you to arrange on your thigh, while she places the other on your shoulder. Your muscles loosen with the application of heat. You can’t help but smile. Winry presses her thumb into your trapezius muscle. Your groan surprises both of you. “You’re so tight,” she says, and her other hand comes up to join the first, massaging your shoulders. 

Her hands have their own electricity, better than the storm outside. Though you know you’ll hurt just as much – maybe more – after she finishes, right now, the sensation chases the static from your ports. You let her manipulate your muscles, your flesh arm; you agree when she suggests you take off your shirt and get on the rug, so she can really go to work. 

When she straddles your ass, you start, but Winry thumps your skull, ordering you to lie still. Her hands blaze through the taut muscles of your shoulders and back, and your flesh arm, and she shifts down so she’s resting on your thighs. You want to wriggle – damn it, you hadn’t thought a massage would cause an erection. 

“Once I’m done with your back, I should do your chest.” You tense and Winry thumps your skull again. “Don’t do that! You’ll ruin my work.” 

“Winry.” Her name comes out in a whine. You really can’t control your hips. Stupid dick. 

She stills, her hands resting on your lower back. You can almost hear the gears she probably has instead of brains. For a second, you think she’ll move, but not the way she does, leaning over your spine. Her breath tickles the back of your neck. She murmurs, “Roll over, Ed.” 

You take a deep breath, and obey. 


	7. Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward’s home, but it’s still difficult to be here.

The bridge between the two worlds is death. 

You hate that you’d forgotten – or had managed to put it out of your mind. The energy of souls is needed to open the doorway, to send anyone through Truth’s gateway from Amestris to here, or from Earth to Amestris. Too high of a price, you know, but your little brother didn’t think so. He’d paid the price to send you home. 

You’re still not sure how to deal with being back in Risembool. Sharing a house with Winry, and her dog, and the ghosts of her family – her husband, their daughter, and Pinako. The house seems empty, sometimes. You half-expect to see a suit of armor sitting outside in the grass with the chickens, even though Alphonse had been human and whole for so long. You think you smell Pinako’s pipe, or hear Den’s peculiar gait, with her automail booming off the wooden floor. 

You don’t tell Winry. Neither of you are completely whole as it is. You know she’s haunted, too. You see it in her eyes, in the way they widen for a second when she sees you at the table in the morning, or when you startle her while she’s working. You don’t know for sure how long her husband and daughter have been gone, but she visits the cemeteries regularly to take care of the grave stones. 

You go to the cemetery, too. Pay your respects to your mother’s stone. Tell her how your father died, how your brother died. You wonder how she’d feel about it, their deaths and how Alphonse’s brought you home. Would she say the toll was too high, even though Alphonse was dying already? You would’ve sent him home yourself, if you’d been brave enough. 

Winry asks if you want a stone to mark Alphonse’s death. You think about it for about a second, but Alphonse isn’t here. Or if he is, well, his soul is power to be used by an alchemist. You decline.

One evening, Winry reaches a hand out to you. You accept, linking your fingers with hers. 

The bridge between two worlds is death. 

The connection between the two of you is life. 


	8. Scabbing Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Edward’s return, through Winry’s eyes.   
> Disclaimer: Arakawa owns all, Bones pays her, I write fanfic and don’t earn money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured Winry needed to have a chance to talk at some point or another.

When you were a child, you believed in happy endings. Then your parents were killed in Ishval, and your best friends’ mother died, and so many other things happened, the idea of a happy ending was one that, frankly, you weren’t sure existed. At least, not in your life. 

For a few minutes, when Edward came back from wherever he disappeared to, you’d believed maybe, there was a chance for hope. For what you’d always wanted. But Edward ran away, and this time, he took Alphonse with him. 

You gave up on ever seeing them again. Wherever they were, you had to hope they were happy, that they were finally together again, the thing they’d fought for, died for, had finally happened. You were the sacrifice to their happiness, an unwilling one, perhaps, but still left behind on the altar of brotherly devotion.

Time passed, and you discovered you could find your own happiness. A husband. A daughter. And some of the old hurt eased, changed, became a bittersweet memory. You weren’t much for ‘what ifs’. Alchemy taught you like a child being taught not to touch fire by getting a burn. Your burns went down to the bone, but even then, they healed. They scarred, but you didn’t know anyone who didn’t carry scars of some sort. 

Life had another lesson to teach you, though, that happiness could be oh so fleeting, and wounds could be ripped open again. You lost them both, your beautiful little girl, your adoring husband. The pain consumed you like fire ate paper, crisping you to a husk. 

Yes, you had your work, your customers. But it wasn’t the same. There were friends from your days hanging out with the Elrics, and you watched Elicia Hughes grow up from a roly-poly little girl with fuzzy hair to a coltish pre-teen. You kept your distance, though. You’d gotten burned too many times before, and those scabs, they could be pulled off all too easily. You didn’t keep in touch with anyone else from those days, not in the military. Some of them would stare at you with saddened eyes, or guilty ones (you’re never sure which is worse). And a couple of the men seemed to think that maybe, you were over all of the pain, and that made you accessible. _Courtable._ You weren’t, and you let them know, politely but quickly, and decided to stay away from Central City and the military as much as you could. 

And then Edward showed up again. 

You didn’t know how to react. Didn’t know what you should actually do. He could be a fever dream – you’d had them often enough over the years. Except he ate food, and took care of the garden, and talked to you at meal times. And then he left again, and you didn’t know if he would come back. A part of you almost wished he wouldn’t, because sharing the house with Edward Elric was like having a ghost in the walls. 

Then the letter came. Not just one, but many. All of them telling you little secrets from Edward Elric, secrets he’d always kept to himself. Secrets he now seemed to think you are worthy of keeping. 

You don’t know whether to be pleased or irritated it’s taken him so long. 

When he comes home, back to your home, back to the only home he has now, you’re not surprised. Not any more. You know now, he’ll always come back to you. 

The scabs still remain – those wounds, they’re deep, after all. But finally, you think, some of them can heal. When Edward gives you a clumsy hug that tightens and brings you even closer, you think, maybe all of them will.


	9. Ashes Ashes We All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward's terrified she's going to die.

You are dozing, maybe, when you hear the crash-clatter sound that jerks you right out of whatever daydream you’d been in. You’re on your feet even before you know it, half-stumbling, half-running toward the direction of the noise. You bounce off a hassock, nearly slam into a wall, grab the door frame of the kitchen to stare inside. 

Winry lay on the floor, her hair a puddle around her head. Lu, the dog, snuffles around her, whining low in her throat. 

Your breath and heartbeat are loud in your ears and for a few seconds, you can’t think. Your stomach churns with nausea, with remembrance, of your mom lying just like that, collapsed to the floor, and _she’d died_ , a child’s voice wails inside of you. Your younger voice, begging for your mom to open her eyes, to be all right, to – 

No. You shake your head and force yourself into the kitchen. There’s none of the weird, sickly-sweet smell in the air, even if your memories want to conjure it for you. You drop next to Winry on the floor, gently shoving Lu aside to touch Winry’s cheek. It’s cool under your palm, but maybe that’s because you’re shaking and sweating and trying not to vomit all over the floor. “Winry?” Your chattering teeth add a few extra syllables to her name, but you don’t care. “Winry, please.” You’re trying to remember the name of the doctor in town, now that Pinako’s gone, but all you can seem to think is Winry’s the one who takes care of everyone. 

Still cupping her cheek, you glance around, your eyes lighting on a tipped chair. Had she been standing on it? You follow the line of it to the cabinet, up to the cupboard, and an open door. It didn’t look that high, even to you, but why else would Winry be on the floor? You ignore the child’s voice inside your head, hiccupping and sobbing that she’s _dying_ , even though a part of you agrees with that voice, too. “Winry, wake up.” 

You don’t want to leave her here, but the telephone is two rooms over, and the cord isn’t long enough to drag the damned thing into the kitchen. Growling, you race out of the room. It seems to take forever to reach the telephone, even though it’s probably only thirty steps, at the most. You yank the receiver out of the cradle and dial a number you have memorized from your childhood – the train station. Old Mr. Coyle would know who to call, and he’d call for you, if he’d just pick up the damned telephone. 

“Hello!” you shout into the mouthpiece. “Mr. Coyle. It’s,” you hesitate for a split second. You haven’t used your name here, not really, even though you’ve been staying with Winry for almost a year. But Winry’s more important than any solitude. “Edward Elric. Winry’s unconscious, I think she fell. Can you get someone out here?” 

There’s a pause, maybe as long as it takes for your heart to beat, but it takes forever before Coyle says, “At the house? I’ll call Doc Murphy, get him over there as soon as he can.” 

“Thanks,” you bark out, wiping your eyes. Everything had gone blurry all of a sudden. “Tell him to hurry.” You don’t even wait for an answer before dropping the receiver in the cradle and running back to the kitchen. 

Winry’s still in the same place on the floor, with Lu curled up next to her now. Her eyes follow you and her delicate chin rests on Winry’s side. “I know,” you tell her, because you know exactly how she has to feel. You don’t know if you should move Winry, even though the floor’s cold. You’ve never been the one to take care of anyone, except Al, and look where that got him. 

_Shit. Shit._ You’re not thinking of Alphonse, and his sacrifice. No, dammit. You _aren’t._ The Truth might be a fucking bastard, but even it wouldn’t take Winry from you, too. It couldn’t. 

You try to turn your thoughts away from that dismal path, looking over what you can see of Winry. She lies on her side, one arm slightly behind her. Surely it’d be all right to move it? It can’t be comfortable, dangling behind her like that. But you’re half afraid to touch her. What if her body’s cold? “Fuck it,” you tell yourself, and carefully, cautiously, cup your hands around her elbow and wrist, lifting and gently flexing her arm so you can lay it along her side. Nothing feels like its grating against something inside, at least as far as you can tell, but still. You’re not a doctor. You’re just an alchemist, and you know next to nothing about medicine, just what little you’ve gleaned over the years when healing up yourself. 

“Water.” Yeah, a wet cloth. That might help, right? The damp could wake her up. You scramble to your feet, grabbing the dish towel off the rack and soaking it in the sink. You can’t be bothered to wring it out, dropping to your knees hard. Pressing the wet cloth to Winry’s face, you lean close, pleas to a god you don’t even believe in spilling out of your mouth. You stroke the fabric across her skin, touching her temple and her cheek. The cloth left behind water smears on her face. 

Did her eyelids flicker? You freeze, holding your breath, the cloth above her face. Water dribbles off it to strike her cheek. “Nnn,” she whines, and you feel your heart slam into your ribs. “Cold.” 

“Winry, Winry.” You chant her name. Your hands hover over her shoulder and the crown of her head, the wet cloth plopping to the floor. Please move, you don’t say out loud, but you want her to move so much. “Please wake up!” Lu wuffs and shoves her muzzle under your hands. Her nose touches Winry’s neck.

“Eee-yow!” Winry tries to roll away from Lu’s nose, crying out in pain. 

“Easy!” You catch hold of her shoulder. “You,” fell. You don’t know what to say, really. “You’re hurt,” you allow. “Can you roll onto your back?” You really want to see the other side of her head. There hadn’t been any sign of blood seeping on the floor, but you still wanted to make sure.

Winry groans as she flops onto her back, as graceful as a cow. Her wince squinches her face. Lu whines at the sounds Winry makes, her ears rising and falling. “The floor’s wet, am I bleeding?” 

Peeling damp hair away from the left side of her face, you sigh in relief. “No. That’s water. I wiped your face.” And dripped. Not like you really care at the moment. “Winry, I,” you can’t go on. Your voice shakes too much. You lean down over her, pressing your forehead to hers, cupping her face as gently as you can between your shaking hands. She has to hear the rattle of your automail. 

Her hand comes up to cover yours, and you sigh, hard. _You’re alive, you’re alive,_ you think. 

X X X

Doctor Murphy is from the next community over, a skinny, wiry man, not at all what you expect. He has a shock of red hair and freckles, and barely looks old enough to shave (like you have any right to complain), and he brings his wife with him. “She’s a doctor, too,” he tells you as his wife goes on into see Winry in her room. “It’s good, there are some women and girls who’d prefer not seeing me.” 

Your mouth twitches, but you don’t have a lot to say about it. Or anything, really. You want to pace, or go outside and split wood. Be in the room with Winry, just so you can make sure she’s not going anywhere. Murphy engages you, gets you to make him some tea, sit down, talk to him about stupid things. You don’t even know what you two talked about, because you’re so focused on the stairs up to Winry’s room. You wish you could change places with Lu, because she stayed next to the bed when you got shooed out. 

Finally, Doctor Mrs. Murphy comes down the stairs. You knock over your chair, nearly falling yourself to get to her. “What is it? Is she okay?” 

“Easy,” she says, raising her hands. “She got dizzy, and she fell. It was a bad tumble, but it didn’t hurt her too much. She’ll be bruised and hurting for a few days. I know she already has access to a lot of the medications I’d suggest, so I left her a list.” 

You nearly dance in your impatience. “What’s wrong with her?” 

“Go upstairs,” Dr. Murphy says, but she catches your shoulder before you can thunder off. “And go easy.” 

You hear her tell her husband that they’re done, but you don’t really care, taking the stairs two at a time. The door to her room is still closed, and that stops you. You wonder if you should knock, or barge in, or what might wait for you on the other side of the threshold. Go upstairs, the doctor said, and you’re suddenly frozen to the floor, even though you’d wanted to see Winry and find out what was going on since the Murphys arrived. 

For a long minute, you stand there, unable to move. Your mind supplies all sorts of horrors – the tuberculosis that killed Al and Alfons; the plague that took your mom. The pneumonia you suffered, arriving back in Risembool. You shudder hard enough to make your automail clatter, and that, more than anything, breaks you out of the spell. You knock on the door lightly, but you don’t wait for Winry to answer, bursting through the doorway. “Are you all right?”

At first glance, you want to shake, or vomit – she’s leaning back against a pillow, with a little bed jacket on – you didn’t even know she owned one. And she looks so pale, and worn, and you can see the tension back in her face, where it hasn’t been for a while. Your nerves ratchet up higher and a tremor runs down your spine. You see your mother’s face instead of hers for a second, until you realize Winry’s saying your name. 

“I’m sorry.” You sound hoarse, and you can’t quite see right, but you make your way to the bed, standing next to it. You fumble for Winry’s hand, relieved when she takes it. When she gives a little tug, you all but fall down onto the bed next to her. “I thought…” You raise your eyes to hers, and she’s giving you a look you can’t read. It makes you swallow and you have to look away again, pulling her hand up to hold it against your face. 

“Oh, Ed.” She sounds tired, and exasperated, and completely normal. You dare to look at her through your bangs, noting her smile, and the hint of pink on her cheeks. A fever? “Don’t look so worried.” 

“But you fell!” 

“My equilibrium was – is – off.” Winry sighs, and turns her fingers so she can touch your cheek. “I should’ve realized.” 

“Huh?” You can be so eloquent, sometimes. 

“Remember when I gave you a backrub?” 

You nod, dumbly. Is Winry getting pinker?

“Do you remember what happened afterward?” 

You suck in a breath. You have very fond memories of what happened afterward. “Uh.” 

“I see you do.” Her mouth twists wryly. “You do know what happens when people have sex, right?”

“I.” Your brain short-circuits and your mouth flops open and you stiffen, your eyes going wide. 

“So,” Winry says, as slow as if she’s concerned you won’t understand anything she’s saying, “I’m pregnant.” 

The short-circuit turns into an explosion. You’re pretty sure you scream, and maybe jump off the bed and yell some more, but what you realize next is hugging Winry tight, your face buried in the crook of her neck. She’s laughing, or maybe crying, and patting your shoulders. You pull back, studying her face, wondering why it’s blurry. “Are you okay? I mean it, Winry, are you really okay with this?” 

She runs her hand up the side of your neck to rumple your hair. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but, maybe it’s right.” 

You exhale, pressing your forehead against hers. “Yeah,” you whisper. “It is.” 

X X X

Did you fall for her when you realized you couldn’t have her, you wonder sometimes, but decide it doesn’t matter. What you have now – what you both have – a second chance, maybe. Or the one you were supposed to have all along, if you hadn’t gone to that other world. 

It’s a beautiful day, and you smile at Winry. She smiles back, and takes the pen, signing her name with a flourish. You sign the register too, and afterward, turn to her and kiss her cheek. You’d kiss her mouth, but her belly’s in the way. You each wear a simple band on your ring fingers, and you’ve stood in front of the Justice to be wed. This is it, you think, this is why you came home. 

Even if you thought your world had been ashed, losing your mom and Al, you came out of it with the help of this beautiful woman beside you. You both walked through the fire, and you were burned, but now, the fires are all passed, and your lives lie ahead of you, as bright as the sun overhead.


	10. A Call for Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Everybody needs somebody sometime.

You’d forgotten what Risembool is like being in the other world. Back there, the war kept everyone on edge. Trust was something hard won and easily broken. People kept to themselves and their own and those who dared to offer a helping hand – or look for one – risked losing that hand. 

You’d become accustomed to that, drawing in to protect Al and yourself and Noah. Trying to block out the rest of the world. It didn’t work. Noah paid the price for your lack of attention. You hate to think Al did, too. His death gave you a way back home – you would’ve stayed there with him, taken care of him. But the disease took him from you and he chose to send you back here so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Now, you’re here in Risembool. Hiding out. Not that people didn’t find you. After you used alchemy to help during the flood, everyone knew you were back. You’re pretty sure the news spread to the farming communities and all the way to wherever Mustang was since he’d shown up on the doorstep looking for you, wanting you back in the military. You’d turned him down but that didn’t stop others from coming. Old friends, people in need. 

And now, you’re the one needing someone. 

Your hand shakes as you dial the number you’ve memorized. The dial ratchets back into place so slowly it makes you want to scream. Winry’s water broke. She needs the doctor. You need to be calm but when someone finally picks up on the other end of the line, you stammer and gibber and it’s all you can do to get out, “Winry Rockbell! Baby!” 

“Oh, it’s time?” Dr. Murphy – the woman, rather than the man – said. “I’ll get on the way. Can you tell me what’s happening, Ed?” She paused. “Take a breath. Let it out. Now tell me.” 

You blurt, “We were in the garden. Her water broke! I brought her inside. You need to get here!” 

“I’m on my way, Edward,” Dr. Murphy tells you and you hear the click of the connection breaking. 

Which leaves you standing there with the receiver in your hand. You replace it in the cradle and shriek when the telephone jangles. You manage to grab it before it rings again. 

“Hello?” 

“Ed? It’s Mrs. Coyle. Heard the baby’s coming. Do you need some help there?”

Your head spins. “I…Dr. Murphy’s coming.” 

“Oh, she’s a good doctor. Almost as good as Pinako. You call if you need anything, hear?” 

“Yes’m.” You remember to add, “Thank you,” before hanging up. Dragging a hand over your hair, you stand there for a few seconds. No matter that you’d tried to hide away, people knew. People cared. 

From upstairs, Winry shouts your name, bringing you out of your reverie. “Coming!” you yell back. Soon, there’ll be a new life in this world. You can’t wait to show your baby all your wonderful neighbors. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Relief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660829) by [Ookami82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ookami82/pseuds/Ookami82)




End file.
